Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(87)

The last button came undone. Stepping back, he indulged himself in the sight of her breasts shadowed by the open shirt.

“Holt,” she whispered.

He moved close enough to cup her breasts, using them as playthings—and leashes. “In the club or in any sexual situation, call me Sir. It’s an audible reminder of our roles, of the power exchange we’re in. Using my name anywhere else is fine. But no matter where or when, if you’re feeling submissive, go ahead and use Sir.”

Being new, she might not realize how easily and often a submissive could slide into handing over control and relaxing into a service state of mind.

Her brows drew together. As aroused as she was, her mind might not be processing well. She nodded finally. “Yes, Sir.”

“Now, baby, in any sexual situation—even if we’re not in the Shadowlands—I keep the reins. You never have to worry about how to please me, because I will tell you.”

Her eyes got wider, yet…no fear. If anything, she looked relieved.

“You will need to ask my permission to come.”

And wasn’t that the cutest glare in the world? She sure didn’t like that idea.

“Sweetheart, scowling at me won’t change my mind. Begging sometimes works.”

Before she could say something he’d have to punish her for, he rolled her nipples between his fingers and watched her brain shut right off. After a quick kiss, he continued, “No matter what we’re doing, I’ll never forget your safewords are red and yellow. You’re safe with me, Josie.”

Her next breath was deeper. Easier.

Before she got too comfortable, he moved her hands and slid the shirt off her shoulders. As the garment fell to the ground, he crossed her wrists behind her again.

Such pretty breasts with the rosy nipples pointing outward. As he indulged in a nice long look, her face colored. “You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.”

With one finger, he stroked the bottom curve of one breast, establishing he could and would touch her when he wanted. No need to manhandle her…one finger was all that was needed. He walked behind her and brushed his fingers over her spine, then followed the edge of her shorts from the back to the front. “Cute shorts.”

They were gold with tiny bunnies. Another glimpse into the soft, whimsical side of the practical bartender. He undid the drawstring tie, putting a finger under the waistband to stretch it, and let go. The shorts slid down to her ankles.

Seeing her aborted move to catch them, he managed—barely—to smother his laugh.

“Sorry, Sir,” she whispered, her hands behind her back again.

“Well, you might have been sorry.” He took some time to enjoy her breasts. They fit into his palms perfectly, a satisfying, sensual weight. Warm and heavy with satiny skin. Her nipples puckered into hard buds when he ran his thumbs around them.

Her lips parted, her eyelids drooping slightly.

Damn, he liked watching her responses.

Crouching, he ran his hands down her waist, hips, and outer thighs. When he nuzzled the sweet spot between her hip and pussy, she trembled. He breathed her in—no perfumes, simply shower fresh and aroused woman—and wanted to toss her on the bed and bury himself deep.

No. Tonight would be slow. An affirmation of life. For them both.

Besides, the Dom in him would enjoy drawing out her anticipation. He rubbed his chin over her mound, letting his light stubble rasp over her delicate skin.

Her knees wobbled. In fact, he doubted she could remain upright if he started on her pussy.

Rising, he gripped her waist, lifted her so the shorts fell from her ankles, and sat her on the bed. “Keep your arms behind your back, baby.”

She had the most beautiful vulnerable eyes.

Now…what furniture and toys did he have to work with in her bedroom?

The bed was a great height and had a lower upholstered bench at the foot. No footboard. Yeah, that would work nicely—make it easy for him to play. With his foot, he moved the bench a couple of feet out from the bed.

He eyed her. Her need to serve also meant she wasn’t comfortable with receiving. She’d enjoy what he planned, but undoubtedly would try to give him “his turn” far, far sooner than he intended. A bit of bondage might be in order.

The bathroom yielded a pair of scissors that he set on the nightstand.

In the closet, he found belts and scarves, including a long wool belt from a winter coat. Perfect.

He buckled a leather belt around her waist. “Drop your arms.” Wrapping the coat’s oversized belt all the way around her above her elbows and below her breasts, he pinned her arms to her sides.


“Holt—um, Sir.” Josie felt her pulse pick up when she couldn’t lift her arms. Her hands were useless. She should have known he wouldn’t do simply missionary style sex. But still…bondage? “What if…” What if you leave? What if you drop dead of a heart attack?

He studied her face and then cupped her cheek. “Because we’re alone here, any bondage I use will be possible to get out of, pet. If needed, you could work your arms out.”

She wiggled slightly and realized it was true. It would take a while, but she could get free. Her muscles relaxed. “Thank you.”

“No worries.” He kissed her lightly. “I like you on edge—but not terrified. Josie, for pain or pleasure, I will not give you more than you can take.”